


Rickcoaster of inStanity

by KidaCakes



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: 70s time period, Crossover, Drug Use, Excessive Drinking, Explicit Language, Grinding, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Homophobia, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Masturbation, Pancakes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Smoking, The Flesh Curtains, Violence, What Have I Done, awkward mornings, because it's Rick, i am trash, its explicit for a reason, spanish pines - Freeform, stanchez, there will be smut, young!Rick, young!stan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:19:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6954427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KidaCakes/pseuds/KidaCakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick wasn't one to believe in fate. He was a man of science. Yet what is he supposed to think when he's put in a situation of a tied past with a familiar stranger? He'll just see where it goes, of course. His life was one big roller-coaster of random happenstance, what's another loop to it?</p><p>*Edited summary*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drinks, Drugs, Rick, and Lee

**Author's Note:**

> I've never found a crossover pairing I really shipped, never thought much of them one way or another. Until I ran across Stanchez. Sweet mother of mercy, did I fall hard for this ship. I have my otp, they'll always be in my heart, but did these two not suck me in like a black hole. 
> 
> I've also never wrote so much in a single sitting for a single chapter. Unfortunately, I axed about half of it. Literally, first half was exposition, which I loved writing, but wasn't needed and could be delved into later on.
> 
> Sorry such a long note, and sorry for at least 1000-1500 words shorter than it originally was. The next chapter is full of science-y goodness! With arts and crafts.

Rick headed into the only bar in the small town, if you could really call it that since it was such a fucking dive. The outside of the bar was dingy, the neon sign that stated it was open flickered, the 'e' going dark before sputtering back to dim life. A wooden sign hung over the door, sand and wind worn smooth, the painted letters faded and chipped as it spelled out 'Al's Bar' in blocky font. Everything about the building just oozed with 'last choice' and 'depression' like a thick smog. But, hey, cheap booze and possibly getting laid was fine by him.

It was a decent enough night; not exactly cool yet but not balls hot now that the sun set a few hours ago. So, Rick had on his favorite pair of black leather pants, the kind that looks like you had to be poured into. Clunky black boots that reached to mid-calf over his skintight pants, slim yet toned calves, laced up tight with black straps and adorned with blunt tipped spikes along the edge of the toe cap. A hanging leather vest, literally a thin piece of soft leather with armholes, that complimented his low, low cut cyan tank top that just reached down to his skull belt. Rick also had on a black leather collar with a gold D-ring in the front and blunt tipped spiked cuffs. His vibrant, dark blue hair naturally spiked as well, defying gravity. Fuck, he was drop dead _S-E-X-Y_!

He scanned the bar; pretty slim pickings tonight for potential fucks. Like, barely scraps. Rick just sat at the counter, the leather of his pants and the hard wood of the stool making a slight squeaking sound. Ordering something that was strong, cheap, and a double to the bartender, a burly, sour looking man that he assumed must have been Al. The drink was a dark liquid in a clearish, old fashioned tumbler. He took a swig, the liquor burned on the way down and settled warm in the pit of his gut. Not bad.

Few of the dark, liquor drinks in and Rick could feel his body getting to that lovely loose and more relaxed state. He didn't like dealing with shit that he thought was stupid or stupid people that just talked out their ass like they were smart. Which was a lot of people. So he drank to deal with that and other shit. He liked being drunk. He liked being high. He liked being anything but sober.

He let out a burp after he tossed back his drink, the burn not bothering him much anymore as he got used to it. Some spittle dripped from his lip and he wiped it away with the back of his hand, his nails were painted black. He added his empty glass to the others and signaled for another.

Rick turned around on the swiveling barstool, like a kid would do, to scope out the room again. _No, yeesh no, fuck no, puke, maybe a threeway but doubtful, need to be hella drunk, n-- heeeelllooo_. Rick had made almost a full rotation back when he noticed someone sitting down a few stools. His eyes widen a bit before he rubbed them, wondering if he was already shit faced.

It was Stanford fucking Pines. But not. Like, fuck, the face was the goddamn same except for a forming shiner and some scrapes. It's been years since he's last seen the little shit but he couldn't have changed that much. Rick let out a snort of laughter. _He has a freaking mullet like hairdo!_

The other man had a shorter, brown shaggy hair on the top of his head and in the back it reached down to a little past his shoulders. This Ford lookalike was much broader with thicker arms that looked like pure muscle. Those arms led down into big, wide hands wrapped in white bandages, like what a boxer would do. _Five fucking fingers_! He counted the digits that were wrapped around the bottle of the cheapest beer they sold here. Even Rick didn't drink it. It barely got you fucked up, even after a few, and tasted like eating out a Uchronion’s solrix.

The bartender brought his drink and set it down. Rick stopped him and told him to give one to the guy sitting down there, on him. He fiddled with his ear, touching the piercings there. Rick was definitely curious about this guy.

Al poured another strong, whatever drink (Rick noted it was in an unlabeled brown bottle) and brought it to the Ford lookalike, Fordalike?, to which he looked surprised until the bartender said something Rick couldn't hear and pointed down at him. The Fordalike turned his head to look at him, god that face was definitely Ford's, just more banged up and no glasses.

Rick smirked and, not wanting to make the guy kick his ass, pointed to his own eye. “Y-y-you look like sh-shiii-uurp-it. Thought you could u-use a stronger drink than that sh-sh- piss water.” _Nailed it_.

The Fordalike gave him a kind of wary, incredulous look for a pregnant moment before taking the drink, holding it Rick’s way and nodding his thanks. The Fordalike took a deep pull from the glass, made a slight face from the strength, and smiled wide and genuine. Obviously someone else that enjoyed a strong drink almost as much as Rick.

Rick gave a weird smile and stood up, grabbing his own drink, and moved down the few stools so he was sitting next to the Fordalike. “Heh, l-l-looks like you enjoy it. I loooove me some strong shiiit! My name's -UuUUrrp- Rick Sanchez.” Might as well introduced himself. The Fordalike looked at him, sizing him up, before he spoke in a gruff voice. “Yeah, s'good. Definitely could use it more than this crap beer. Stanley Pines the mame.” He took another large sip.

Rick raised his unibrow slightly. _Well, fucking look at that. No way they weren't related. Brothers?_ Nothing ventured, nothing gained. “Wait, Pines? Li-like fucking Stanford Pines, Pines?”

_Oh. Wrong question._ Rick thought as he watched as any sort of mirth on the Fordali-- Stanley’s face vanished and a brooding, angry look washed over his features.

Stan finished his drink, letting his meaty fist slam with the glass onto the bar. “Yeah. He's my twin. How the fuck do ya know him?” Stan asked, looking at Rick like he was debating on whether or not to slam his fist into the other's face.

Rick gulped down his drink, belched, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and signaled for another two drinks. “Oh man! A twin, haha. Shiiiit. W-we-well, I went to uni-univ-uni- college with ‘im. F-fucker got part of my grant mo-UUurrp-ney but s’okay. I'm making money by flipping shit I make on the side.” Rick grinned and laughed, leaning back far on the stool before righting himself again.

Al gave them both a glass with the strong booze in it. Rick was well on his way to getting shit faced while Stan just had a tinge of pink on his cheeks from the alcohol.

“So, yer a super nerd like Sixer? I wouldn't have guessed. Don't look like it.” Stan wasted no time downing half his drink before putting the glass back down. “Flipping what shit?” He asked, money was a way better topic than his brother.

Rick laughed again, an obnoxious sound of a drunk that didn't care if they were loud or bothering others, well, there were two other patrons besides them now. It didn't matter too much. “Fuck that shit! I'd k-kil- die if I was like that uptight goody two shoes!”

Rick dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a pack of smokes, taking one out, sticking it between his lips, and feeling around for a light before Stan held out a lighter and flicked it to life. Rick leaned in and let the cigarette tip over the flame, breathing in before pulling back slightly, the cherry burning an brightorange-red, before dimming. The smoke curled and wafted into the air as Rick let it out. “Heh, such a gentleman!” He chuckled a bit before taking another drag and removing it from between his lips.

The bluenette leaned in again, getting close to Stan, his voice dropping a few notches in volume. Though, it was still fairly loud in the rather quiet bar. “L-listen Lee, I like ya. You're already better than y-y-your brother in my book. So, I'll tell ya.” He moved in even closer, another drag, and Stan had the smoke in his face as he exhaled. 

“I make this fucking a-a-amazing party favor. Shit gets hg-uuUUUurrrp you high like nuh-nothin’ else, Lee. Selling it for fifteen bucks a pop! Fifteen bucks, Lee! Making a good amount of side cash for myself.” Rick’s eyes twinkled with wicked glee.

No one called Stan “Lee” but he didn't exactly hate it. He decided he'd let it go. He was more interested in this money making drug, even willing to ignore the smoke in his face. “Fifteen bucks?! That's one expensive drug.” Stan whistled. Selling a few of those would get him fed for a few days and fill the tank of the Stanmobile. Maybe even have some for more booze. “Man, I'd like to be making that kinda cash.”

Rick grinned wider and whooped, the other two patrons looked over, annoyed, and went back to their own devices. “Yeeeah baby! Shit’s great! But, I could always use some help, Lee. Go-good shit like this c-ca-can get kinda dangerous with people wanting it without the money to afford it, y-y-you feel me?”

Rick grabbed his glass, tossing it back and groaning low before letting out a long belch, spittle dripping down from his lip. He took another drag off his cigarette before slinging his free arm around Stan’s shoulders, being a tall, skinny noodle made it easy to do. He put his head just inches from Stan’s face. “You're a-a tough looking guy, Lee. Real solid build. How ‘b-bou-bout it, Lee? W-wanna work with me? You can be my muscle.”

Stan tried to look at Rick but his face was pretty close. He could smell the liquor and smoke on his breath with each exhale and he could see that Rick’s eyes were lined with a light amount of black eyeliner. _Guy’s really into this punk thing._ Stan thought absentmindedly. 

He's known the guy maybe an hour or so and wanted Stan to work for him. Being a bodyguard or something while he made and sold drugs. Fucking crazy.

Stan didn't have many options. Hell, he barely had two pennies to his name. Fuck it, he had nothing to lose. He grinned back at Rick. “Why the hell not? I'll do it.”

Rick pulled back and whooped again, louder, and grabbed at the new glass the bartender had put down, spinning on the stool as he gulped it down. A belch and Rick was laughing, throwing his arm around Stan’s shoulders again. “Rick and Lee forever! Rick and Lee a hundred years!” He cheered, swinging his other arm around with the glass, a few leftover drops flying out.

_He's fucking crazy. But this could be fun. At least I'll have a drinking buddy._ Stan laughed himself, whatever was going to happen was at least going to be an interesting ride. He finished off his own drink and slung his arm over Rick’s shoulders, cheering with him.


	2. Rick’s Science Breakdown: Arts and Crafts Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys be drunk and need to get to Rick’s place. Who doesn't love drunk science explanations? Now with 80% more crafts!

The alcohol had them feeling pretty good. After the whooping and cheering they settled down a bit. Rick was still loud and belching while Stan was chuckling from watching Rick’s wild gestures as he told him some crazy stories. 

There were a few topics neither brought up, both not wanting to delve into it, like family and their childhoods. Rick was keenly aware any mention of his brother was off the table. Not that he wanted to talk about the fucker anyway. 

Rick found out that Stan had been living in his car since got back from a stint in a Colombian prison and came back to the United States not too long ago, penniless and homeless. Found his car again, much to Stan’s relief and good luck, and came to New Mexico to live. Apparently, he was banned from quite a few states. Rick was impressed. And before the Colombian thing he was a con man, selling people crappy shit that led to him getting run out from state to state. 

Stan was also a boxer. He had just finished a fight that he lost trying to work up some cash for food and booze. Spent his last dollar grabbing that god awful beer. So, Stan was immensely happy to be drinking on Rick’s dime.

Rick didn't mind. He liked having a drinking partner. Squanchy was fun to get fucked up with but it was always alien liquor and drugs, which were fucking aaaawesome. Bird Person partied too but not like Squanchy. Lee was different than both; just laid back, slamming back drinks, and telling stories as they laughed. They got into trying to one-up the other in ‘who has the craziest scheme/scam or run in with the cops’ stories.

By the time the bar had their last call announced, Rick was pretty shit faced. The constant drool from his lip, his head swam, and his vision was not the best. Stan was better but not by much. His face was red, his speech had slurred, and his depth perception wasn't spot on. Great night.

Rick fished around for his wallet, tossing a few bills onto the bar before stuffing it back into his back into the small inside pocket on his vest. Al was drying out a cup down the bar, seeing him put the money down, the bartender nodded before going back to what he was doing. 

“S-so, wanna crash at my pl-place, Lee? You said you got no wh-UUUURRRP-ere else to go besides y-your car.” Rick swayed a bit, leaning against the counter as he got up. 

Stan looked over at the clearly drunk man, watching him stand to his full height and stretch. The Stanmobile wasn't that comfortable a place to sleep and he had no money for even the shittiest of motel rooms. He shrugged and got up himself, a good head or so shorter than the other man but about twice as wide, especially in the shoulders and chest. 

“Yeah, that'd be great. Is it close? I don't think I could drive far this drunk.” Stan, even used to driving under the influence, knew his own limits and didn't feel like dealing with the cops. 

Rick only smiled at Lee, a kind of cocky and lopsided smile, as he turned to walk out the door, fully expecting the other to follow him without another word. It was not a very graceful exit; he swayed and bumped against a table on his way out, pushing the door open with more of his weight than he meant to and stumbled out into the cooled, desert night. 

Stan rolled his eyes and let out a small chuckle, saying a quick “Night.” to the bartender before following the tall, thin man out with a bit of a sway of his own but not knocking into any of the furniture. When he exited it the bar, he saw Rick fiddling with a silver, blocky gun looking thing. There looked like a small screen on the bulkier part of it, a green light bulb on the top. It was weird and Stan had no clue what it was but it didn't look like a weapon; more like a kid's sci-fi toy. 

Stan approached the other man that was mumbling under his breath as he swayed in place and touched the screen of the weird device. Rick let out a burp before finally he stopped his fiddling and raised his head, looking around before he spotted the stocky man that was a few feet away from him. 

“Heeeey baby, ready to g-get the fuck outta here, Lee?” Rick grinned and laughed, it was very close to a giggle, as he waved his gun thing around in a wide arch before pointing it away from the both of them towards the wall of the bar. 

“Si-since this is your fir-uuurp-first time, you might get a l-little disoriented. Don't worry ‘bout it, Lee, it'll paaass.” Lee opened his mouth to ask about what he meant and what that thing in his hand was when Rick raised his free hand to stop him. 

“I-I-I’ll explain later about what this is and how it works. Just don't, just don't think about it. Let's just get to my place.” With that, Rick pulled the trigger and a green, swirling circle appeared on the bar's wall. 

Stan’s eyes widened and he gaped slightly, wondering what the fuck it was. Rick laughed again, loud and with a maniacal undertone to it. He grabbed Stan’s large hand with his slender one and pulled him forward until they went through the portal before Stan could react.

True to his word, Stan was definitely disoriented and stumbled as the came out of the other side of the portal in front of a small, patchwork house. He let go of Rick’s hand, putting both of them on his knees as he bent over, trying to not puke or fall over. He could still hear the other laughing as he walked past him, heading to the door and pushing a few buttons on a panel next to it. The door opened and Rick turned around, stumbling a few steps from the sudden movement. 

“Y-y-you coming, ya puuuuussy?” He mocked as the other finally got himself righted and as stable as he could be in his intoxicated state. 

“The fuck was that, Sanchez?! And don't fucking call me a pussy!” Stan yelled back, turning to look behind him; the portal now gone and nothing was there. Not the bar or any buildings. Just open desert. 

Rick laughed/giggled and just gestured for Stan to hurry up, which he did make his way to the house. Rick walked in, putting the portal gun on a table near the door before he went about sifting through the trash on the floor to get to the kitchen. 

“It's my portal gun, Lee, baby. It let's me go anywhere I want. Well, al-almost anywhere. It's not done just yet. Buuuuut when it is, there won't be a place I can't travel to!” Rick had a smug grin on his face as he reached the kitchen. 

He was a proud and narcissistic bastard when it came to his inventions and accomplishments. This being the first human besides him to experience his portal gun. He relished the response he got. He threw open the fridge door and pulled out two beers before turning around and kicking it closed. A bottle opener and two hisses later, Rick was walking to the doorframe of the kitchen with the open beers.

Stan took in the small place that Rick was living in. It was pretty cluttered. The floor had bottles and cans strewn everywhere, the table by the door had more bottles on them along with a few pieces of paper. There was a chair and a table, the table covered with messy stacks of paper and more alcohol containers. And a TV on a small stand against the wall leading into the kitchen. There was also a wall, to Stan’s right, that was littered with notes, diagrams, strings connecting to different things, and equations. Other than that, it was pretty bare. 

Stan shifted a bit in the doorway, not sure anymore about this, but not knowing where he is or how far away from his car (it couldn't be too far, right?) he was, he didn't really have much in the way of options. He closed the door behind him and made his way towards Rick, side sweeping the junk on the floor with his foot. 

“Listen Rick, next time maybe we should just take my car. Or at least not so drunk. It was pretty, erm, it made my stomach sick.”

Rick snorted and rolled his eyes, handing one of the cold beers to Stan and taking a swig of his own. “C’moooon man, Lee, it was sooo much easier than driving. And l-l-like you said, you didn't wanna drive far. We're at, at least ten miles from that ba-UUuuurp-bar. We got here in seconds. N-now, stop being a little bitch about it.” 

He moved to go down the short hallway to the bedroom, more bottles and cans on the floor, and he sat with a heavy plop onto the queen sized bed. 

Stan groaned slightly, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose and rubbing it in small circles. _This guy's a fucking asshole._ Stan thought as he made his way after Rick. 

He didn't know how much alcohol this guy could handle. They spent the night drinking some hard liquor and then come back to his place to have a beer on top of that. And he knew the guy had a few drinks under his belt when they started drinking together. It was impressive since Stan was no lightweight. However, he wasn't about to waste good beer, this shit was definitely imported. So, he took a deep pull of his own cold beer, leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom. 

“But, like, how did it even work? How could we, y’know, go ten miles in a few seconds?” The concept hurt Stan’s brain and he was sure that if he was sober it would still hurt. 

Rick had placed his beer down on the bedside table, after knocking over a few empty cans to make room, and was taking off his boots, chucking them with a heavy thunk against the wall where they fell to the floor. He looked up at Lee and paused a moment. He figured the science behind his device would be lost on him, knowing the guy wasn't smart in the same way as his brother. Though, he knew he had a definite streetwise and cleverness to him.

Rick grunted, grabbed his beer and chugged it. Burping and letting the now empty bottle drop to the floor with its other fallen brethren, he began to rummage around looking for something in his bedside drawer. 

“J-just gimme a, gimme a sec…” Rick mumbled while looking before he sat back on the bed fully, a few pieces of paper in his hand and a broken pencil in the other. He patted the space next to him on the bed, an invitation before he started his explanation.

Stan moved over and plopped down on the bed, a few inches from Rick as he sipped at his beer again. Rick began with putting the papers on his lap. 

“Okay, now, listen.. I'll explain it as best I can without the science behind it.” Rick poked a hole through one edge of a piece of paper. “See that? Th-that’s where you are, okay? And here…” Rick poked another hole on the opposite edge of the paper, “...is where you wanna go. Like, like imagine this is a ma-uuuuurp-map. You travel across the, the distance from where you are to where you go in a generally horizontal w-wa-way, right? You got all that distance between here and there that you gotta travel. Which blows because it takes time to do it.”

Stan nodded along, it was definitely a simple concept and he grasped it easily. Like, who wouldn't understand getting from point A to point B required time and travel? He took another drink off his beer. 

Rick looked over at Lee and snatched his beer, guzzling the rest of it down quickly before chucking it to the floor, ignoring Lee's sound of protest and indignation. Rick grabbed both edges of the paper between his index finger and thumb, careful not to block out the holes he made. 

“Okay, shut up, I'll get you another one later. J-just listen to me, Lee. So, I made this por-OOoough-portal gun to get rid of that.” Rick slowly started to move the edges together, the middle of the paper sinking down. “Like a map, if you fold it, two points become closer to each other, ya? W-well, I just folded space so that,” Rick let the two holes touch and match up so Lee could see through both the holes that were now pressed together, “all you have to do is step from where you are to where you're going. Like, like liiiiiterally step and you're there, Lee. That's it, baby! Well, that's the con-conce- idea of it, anyways.” Rick grinned brightly, quite pleased with how well he was able to explain the complexities of portal travel in simple terms and examples.

Stan pursed his lips together in a straight line, his thick brows furrowing as he thought. On the whole, he understood what Rick said, the paper gave him a visual that he was able to grasp easily, and it was explained well. It was just, well, still beyond him how one man could _fold_ space like that. He understood just couldn't really grasp the concept of it. It was quite a huge thing. 

“Sooo… we just walked through a hole made by folding space? I mean, I get it, but it's fucking crazy. If I didn't, y’know, just did it myself, I wouldn't have believed ya.” He said, impressed and a bit in awe.

Rick gave a wide and slightly crazed smile to Lee, glad he got it and even more pleased at the reaction he got, he looooved to impress people with his genius. Well, not doing shit to impress others but having what he had wanted to do impress them. His choices. Not others people's pushing their ideas on him and wanting him to do what they wanted for recognition and praise. He wasn't anyone's bitch lap dog, doing tricks and shit for praise. 

Rick got an excited glint in his eyes as he moved to sit crossed legged on the bed, facing Lee fully, the papers in front of him with the pencil on them. He leaned back until he was able to reach the nightstand and grabbed a large, brown glass bottle before moving back to his original position. He tilted his head back and took a few chugs of the bottle, making a sound of exclamation before shaking his head, a few drops of drool that hung from his lip whipping around to land on the bed and his legs. He handed the bottle to Lee. 

“He-Here, Lee, baby. Good shit even, even warm.” Once Lee took the bottle, Rick went back to the papers, poking holes in the other sheets. 

After he was done, he paused before taking off his vest, tossing it to where his boots lay. Even though it wasn't balls hot, it was still warm, plus, he wanted to be comfy. He also took off his spiked cuffs, adding them to the pile as well. 

Stan looked at the bottle, debating whether he should take a drink or not. He knew he was gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow and going from beer to liquor to beer to liquor to beer to liquor again wasn't the smartest idea. But he didn't want the other making a snide remark so he took a drink. Shit _was_ good. He took another before putting it on the ground. Stan took off his own shoes, more neatly placing them next to the bed, before grabbing the bottle and copying the other man, sitting facing him crossed legged. 

“Like I said before, the portal gun is-isn't finished. See this paper?” Rick lifted the original paper with the two holes on opposite edges. “Think of it as our universe, ‘kay? I could travel theoretically _anywhere_ in our universe right now. That includes different galaxies. I won't get into different galaxies now, I'll sh-show you later.” Rick halted in his explanation to grab the bottle from Lee, taking a swig before shoving it back into the other's hands. He burped and wiped the drool from his lips.

“N-now, you've heard of parallel worlds before, right? The same as our world but slightly different? Could be something as simple as, fuck, as the opposite result of any coin flip o-or it could even be like instead of primates, humans evolved from lizards or some shit.” Rick paused, thinking of a lizard version of himself and giggled, though he wouldn't say it was a giggle, before looking to see if Lee was following along.

Stan sort of understood. He had remembered Ford talking about weird stuff like that, different dimensions, he called it. It was a bit difficult to grasp but Rick was actually pretty good at explaining things, which kind of surprised him. The guy seemed more of the type to talk down to people and scoff at them when they didn't understand science jargon and complex science-y stuff. However, Rick was taking his time to walk stand through his invention in an easy way to understand and was rather enthusiastic as he did. 

It was the first time anyone bothered to explain something scientific beyond baking soda volcanoes. Even Sixer, his own twin, never told him much about what he did. Just that it was some advanced science things and Stan would “not really understand it anyway.” Rick actually explained it _and_ knew to explain it in more laymen terms than science jargon. He did it in a way that wasn't demeaning or condescending. It made Stan feel good. 

Stan smiled and nodded, taking another drink from the bottle. His vision was swimming a bit and his body felt heavy and relaxed. 

At Lee's nod, Rick continued his speech, picking up a second sheet of paper with a hole in it. “O-okay, now, think of this paper as another universe, like the c-ooOouUUrp-coin flip one. We're i-in our universe and we want to get to the coin flip one.” Rick held up both pieces of paper, raising the one with two holes when he said ‘our universe’ and raising the other when he said ‘the coin flip universe’ before lining up the holes again. 

“See, I don't fold space like I did before? There's clear sep-sepa-separation between two universes. To get from here to there I have rip through the void between them and build, essentially, a br-uuurp-bridge between the two universes. Wh-which is a-a lot harder. Not impossible, though. I just gotta finish my portal gun. I need a few things to do it b-buuut that can wait for now.” Rick finished, tossing the papers to the ground and shoving the rest off his bed. 

He lifted his arms and stretched, the long, gangly appendages extending high above his head with a grunt and the distinct sound of joints popping. He lowered his arms, grabbing the bottle for another drink and letting it settle on his thigh. 

“I'm fucking tired now. L-listen, I don't exactly got a guest room o-or even a fucking couch but you can sleep in my bed, it's big enough for the-the both of us. Ooootherwise you can try to find a clean spot on the fl-floor and I'll give ya a blanket and pil-uuurp-pillow.” Rick shrugged, knowing that he probably should have thought more on sleeping arrangements beforehand but he was drunk and didn't give a fuck. If Lee really wanted to sleep on the floor, fuck it, he could. 

Stan looked at Rick, to the other side of the bed, to the trash covered floor, to Rick again. Accepting drinks from a stranger, a job, and a place to sleep where nothing really out of the ordinary for Stan but to sleep in the same bed as said stranger that was a dude was out of his comfort zone. He looked back to the floor. He could push most of the trash away to make a space to lay down on but the floor had to be sticky and dirty and he honestly would've slept in his car before he slept on Rick’s nasty floor. 

It would be the first time he slept in a real bed in quite a while. From the feeling under his ass and legs, it was a damn nice bed. Plus, it was big enough for two, like Rick said, without the problem of touching. 

Stan grunted after he finally finished weighing the pros and cons, grabbing the bottle from Rick and taking two, large gulps. He'll blame the alcohol for it later, if he had to. “You're floor’s fucking disgusting, Sanchez. Ain't no way I'm sleeping on it. Just don't try anything weird or I'll beat the shit outta ya.”

Rick snorted, rolled his eyes, and grabbed the bottle again, taking another drink. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't already thought about doing some rather lewd things with the other man. He did that with mostly anyone or thing that he could fuck. He wasn't picky about the gender, or lack thereof, of his partners, just if he could get it up. Which he definitely could from the other man, he had a thing for big arms and broad chests. And he just liked the other guy, he definitely could keep up with Rick’s drinking. 

However, knowing that humans, especially in this day and age, didn't take to same-sex relations well. _Better not let him know I was checking out that fiiiiine ass of his, huh. Yet, at least._

Rick lowered the bottle and gave Lee an exasperated look. “Gee, Lee, m-maybe you can stop jerking yourself off there, Leeee. L-like, fuck, I'm not desperate enough t-to try something with a sleeping guy. I get -uuuurp- o-of actiooooon s-so don't think so high of yourself, Lee.” Rick finished with a belch and got off the bed, wobbling and nearly dropping the bottle as he did before catching himself. 

“I-I gotta go take a p-piss. Get yourself comfy or whatever.” With that, he stumbled his way out of the bedroom and the few feet down and across the hall to the bathroom.

Stan flushed a bit, though he was already pretty flushed from the alcohol, at Rick’s biting words. Stan didn't think he was that attractive or anything. It's just the guy was weird and why ask him to crash by his place if there was only a floor or a shared bed? He got up himself, stretching and moving around to the other side of the bed and pulling off the covers. He thought about taking his pants off, just sleeping in boxers and his shirt but he decided against losing the pants but opted for taking off his shirt. His muscles were well defined, especially in his arms and upper torso. His stomach had a bit of a pudge to it, probably from all the drinking, but wasn't terribly so. Still, he was kind of self conscious about it. But he knew when he woke up it'd be hot and he'd at least want his shirt off.

Stan sat on his side of the bed, toeing off his socks, before swinging his legs up on to it and laying back. Fuck. It was like sleeping on a fucking _cloud_ the bed felt so good. He made the right choice. He was asleep in seconds.

Rick stumbled his way back to the bedroom, having lost his pants sometime in the bathroom. However, since was commando in those skintight leather pants, he did at least bother to throw on a pair of relatively clean boxers and left his tank top on. He usually didn't give a fuck about if he was wearing clothing or not but he honestly didn't want to get punched first thing in the morning because he decided to sleep without underwear.

Seeing that Lee was already passed out, sprawled out with the covers bunched up at the foot of the bed, he snorted. Lee looked rather comfy despite still wearing his pants. _Probably doesn't trust me. I wouldn't trust me. But daaamn if he doesn't look good enough to, to fuck!_ Rick licked his lips, the glint of metal on his tongue from his barbell piercing catching in the dim fluorescent light of the room, as he essentially violated the other with his eyes. 

Getting his eyeful, as well as a half mast chub, he turned off the light and made his way to the bed. Rick scratched his chest, letting out one last belch, before shifting to lay on his side, facing away from Lee. He decided against the blankets as well. He shut his eyes and yawned once before falling asleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this. Just imagining Rick get all excited about showing Stan how his gun works but not doing the whole techy spiel. Instead just breaking it down in simple examples and analogies. Gah.
> 
> I honestly don't know what's going on in the next chapter. It has a mind of its own. But it's a bit raunchy.


	3. Rickterrupted Morning and Stancakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some sexual stuff going down! But not for long. Because I like to suffer and make others suffer. But, some pancakes and drugs to make up for it?

The New Mexico heat was already in full swing when Stan woke up. He grunted softly, scrunching his already closed eyes even more, leaning his head forward to bury it into the soft hair of his partner. It didn't do much to keep the light from fluttering across his eyelids but it did help. His arm was wrapped around the thin waist of the, surprisingly cooler, body in front of him. One leg propped up on narrow hips, his crotch pressed up against the other's small butt. He usually didn't get with a gal so skinny but, eh, whatever. At least she let him crash at her place.

He felt his morning wood throb slightly, straining against his jeans that were weirdly still on, and pressing hard against the firm ass in front of him. Maybe he could get some morning after sex and breakfast. The corner of his mouth twitched upward at the thought before he started to grind real slow against the body in front of him. His mouth moving down just a bit to press a few lazy kisses to the exposed skin where neck met shoulder. His hand wrapped around the girl's waist and began to rub the flat stomach, slowly moving up to massage her breasts.

...She was pretty fucking flat. Like, flat as a board flat. Stan has had skinny girls that didn't have much in the way of curves (drunk and horny tends to make you less choosy) but even they had at least mosquito bite tits. His fingers brushed against a nipple, a pierced nipple, as his hand wandered over the flat chested girl.

The “girl” let out a definitely masculine groan, shifting against Stan’s body and pressing back against his imprisoned hard on. Stan immediately snapped his eyes open and saw dark blue tresses in his vision, his lips pressed against lightly tanned skin and his arm wrapped around and feeling up a clearly male physique. Went without saying his hips stopped their slow grinding against the body he was embracing. 

The memories flooded his mind of last night and he remembered that he didn't go back to a girl's place. He went back to a crazy, science genius, drug maker/dealer’s place. A _male_ crazy, science genius, drug maker/dealer. Realization set in and before his body could react properly the other body pressed against him reacted.

“Nnngh… D-don't stop.. F-feels goooood, baby..” Rick moaned out, voice had a bit of a dry croak to it from disuse during the night and early morning. He rocked his hips back, grinding hard against the bulge pressed against his ass, arching his back so that his chest pushed forward against the hand still on his chest. He let out another moan as that big hand dragged across his skin, the thick fingers sweeping over his nipple and the metal piercing the sensitive nub. 

Stan removed his hand like he was burned, his leg swinging off Rick’s body and he rolled away until he stood on the other side of the bed. He would've yelled right away but the sudden movement, not to mention the intense vertigo, had him swaying and doing what he could not to puke from the sudden brick he felt smash into his head. 

Rick whined at the sudden loss, feeling the larger body leave him, a sudden cool hitting his sweaty back. He felt the bed dip and raise in the way that happened when someone left the bed. Grunting at the fucking tease leaving, he rolled over and burped. One hand rubbing the sleep that crusted his eyes as well as left on eyeliner, and the other hand rubbing his already hard member through his boxers. “C’moooon baby, don't leave me hanging like this, ya tease..” Rick grumbled, waking up more now.

Stan groaned deeply and held his head, a shotgun blast would have been a more gentle feeling. When he was sure, or as sure as he could really feel, that he wasn't going to puke, he looked at Rick, vision blurry for a moment before clearing. He saw the guy rubbing his eyes, a bit of black eyeliner smearing onto his fist and the underside of his eyes. It was the other hand that had his mind reeling. He was stroking his fucking cock! It was through the boxe-- nope, nevermind. Rick’s hand found its way under his waistband and was gripping his length and moving his hand in lazy strokes. And _moaning_ about it. So fucking lewd and, oh god, he lifted his narrow hips a bit to pump into his hand. 

Stan was not gay. Not gay at all. Never looked at another guy like that before. Ever. Never even _entertained_ the idea doing things with another guy. He wasn't even sure how guys had sex without a vagina. Maybe they just jerked and sucked each other off? He mentally shook his head from the thought. Fuck, he's even did his fair share of bullying when he was younger; calling other kids queer and fairies and shit. 

But to reiterate: Stanley Pines was **NOT** a fucking homo. He took a step back and his back pressed against the hot wall of the room. His mouth opened and his voice creaked, far too dry from the desert heat, sleep, and the sudden crisis he was facing. 

_Fuck, he keeps moaning and touching himself and-and saying shit. It's fucking disgusting! B-but his moaning…_ Stan couldn't even finish the thought. His brain wouldn't allow him. While Stan was handling his internal torment about feeling up a guy in his sleep-addled waking moments, Rick was really getting into touching himself and generally trying to entice his partner back to bed. 

The long, skinny body on the bed was squirming in need, the hand inside his boxers still pumping along his shaft but with more purpose than before. Now fully hard, he stroked up and down, the sound of flesh sliding against flesh audible between moans. And what moans they were. The alternated from soft, needy gasping whimpers to long, drawn out moans of wanton desire. Rick’s tongue swiped across his dry lips before lolling out, the silver metal shining in the desert sun filtering through the dusty white blinds. His eyes still remained closed, the hand that had been rubbing them moved down to his chest, pinching and teasing his pierced nipple before moving onto its brother, giving it the same treatment. Between moans, Rick mumbled words of wanton need. 

It was quite the show. 

Stan finally snapped out of it, and got a decent enough handle on his hangover headache, to yell. “What the FUCK are you doing?! Are you fucking queer?!” Okay, the yelling didn't help the pounding headache he had. 

Rick paused in his moaning and stilled his hands, though he still had the hand wrapped around his member. He had winced from the yelling and cracked his eyes open to look over at Lee, a kind of squinting glare at the sudden hostile interruption of what he was hoping to be hot, morning sex. 

“W-well, Leeee, when I get felt up and kissed on and sh-shit, I usually expect to fu-uuuugh-ck, Leeee.” He rolled his eyes, regretted the action, and groaned. Well, this morning was already off to a shitty start. He licked his lips and smacked them, pulling his hand out of his boxers as he sat up, groaning as he stretched a bit, joints creaking and popping. 

“If anyone is a fucking queer here, Leeee, it's you for grinding against my ass. ‘N’ Don-don't fucking yell so early in the fucking morning, Lee. Some-some of us need some goddamn coffee before they start with shit th-this early.” Rick grumbled out, clearly irate with the turn of events from sexy fun time to fucking yelling and homophobic bullshit.  
He glared at Lee one more time before getting up, his boxers still tented but it was starting to wilt . As he looked over Lee, he smirked as his eyes landed on the tented pants. “D-did ya enjoy the show that much, you f-fucking homo, Lee?” Rick’s smirk grew as he watched the flush that Lee already was sporting darkened a few shades. 

Stan was beyond mortified. He had been the one feeling up and grinding on Rick, fuck, even _kissing_ his fucking neck and shoulder. B-but it wasn't his fault! The only time he shared a bed with another person was when they ended up fucking. And the other person was _always_ of the female persuasion. And to his utter horror and shame, Rick noticed his bulge that still hadn't gone down. Well, now it was definitely going down. Why couldn't Rick have spent another minute berating him so his dick could go soft? He didn't have any real comeback for why his cock was hard. No way to justify it with a strong, not fucking gay, reason. 

Fuck it. Anger worked better than reason. “I'm not the one that was fucking jacking it and playing with their nipples, fucker! And I'm not fucking used to sharing a bed with a guy, Rick. It fucking threw me. I thought I was in bed with a _girl_ , okay? And when I realized it was you, I stopped right away.” The last part was added on in a lame defense. Then he raised his eyebrows before glaring at Rick, a revelation hitting him. 

“You're the one that was grinding back against me, moaning and shit for me to keep going. You want it up your ass that bad, huh, Sanchez? You're the fucking queer!”

Rick scoffed and furrowed his brow as he glared at the other. Rick really wasn't gay, or straight, or anything, honestly. He's fucked men, women, and things that he didn't know if they had a gender. He was a hedonist. He lived for pleasure of all forms, getting to the next high, and fighting against authority. But he knew how society on Earth has made finding pleasure such a fucking taboo. Finding pleasure sexually with anything other than the opposite sex in a goddamn vanilla as fuck way was even more so. Rick didn't feel like dealing with Lee’s obvious homophobia now; maybe he'll fuck with him later and try to get him into some interesting situations, but he needed his morning fix first. 

Rather than answer Lee, Rick just mumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like ‘homophobic divas’ before leaving the bedroom. 

Stan watched him go, glaring at his back a moment before calling after him. “Where are you going?” He wasn't done fighting.

“I'm taking a fucking piss, if you w-wanna come and watch, Leee. Then I'm making some goddamn cof-coffee and pancakes.” Rick called back, heading to the bathroom and the distinct sound of liquid hitting liquid could be heard. 

Standing there, now finally soft (thank god), Stan debated with himself. Rick’s complete shutdown of the conversation would make it difficult to continue. Stan was known to pick fights and finish fights but he didn't really want to with this one. Plus, they both had done some heavy drinking before and just.. he didn't know. He didn't want to think about it. It would also be bad if he clobbered the guy he was going to be working with. 

The sound of clattering could be heard as Rick made his way from the bathroom, having thrown on a pair of tight, (fairly clean) black jeans and a new shirt. This one a ripped, grey crew neck that had the collar and sleeves cut off, with hard to read letters covering the chest, that was tight on his slight frame. He washed his face, now cleared of dried eyeliner, dirt, and dried drool and liquor. Rick didn't bother combing his hair; it did it's own thing of being a gravity defying spiky mess. He also slipped on a pair of sandals, not wanting to go through the effort of putting on shoes but not wanting to step on glass or sticky shit. 

In the kitchen, there was a fridge, stove, sink, a long counter, and some cupboards. It was small but there was enough room for one person to move around comfortably. In a corner of the counter sat a beat up coffee pot that he filled and turned on. Rummaging around the kitchen, he pulled out a griddle and ingredients to make pancakes. 

It didn't take long for him to make the batter; long, deft fingers working quickly to cracked eggs, measured the dry items and cream, adding a bit of vanilla extract and a shot of bourbon. The griddle heating up, and the coffee pot percolating, the smell wafting into the air. Rick poured the batter on the griddle, the smell of cooking pancakes intermingled with the aroma of the coffee. 

By the time Stan finished using the bathroom himself, putting on his discarded clothes and shoes again, washing his face, and taking off the dirty wrappings on his hands, he made his way to the kitchen. His mouth was watering at the smells wafting through the air. He stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Rick move around with practiced grace and ease, almost as if he was performing a familiar dance. The other humming a tune Stan hadn't heard before. Rick seemed relaxed and in his element; he was entranced watching him. 

By the time Rick had made the last pancake, there were two impressive stacks of fluffy goodness each on their own plates with a bit of butter on each one. He placed the plates on a large platter, grabbed two cups from the top cupboards and filled them with the dark aromatic liquid, and putting a bottle of syrup and two glass containers on them filled with white powder. Rick picked up the platter and turned around and nearly dropped as he saw Stan standing there.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Lee! How the fuck long were you standing there?!” Rick had to juggle the platter to keep everything from spilling over. Once he had a good grip again he took a deep breath, his heart hammering his chest.

Stan grinned and laughed, he couldn't help it, all of the awkward mortification from this morning gone. Rick even had a fucking _apron_ on that read ‘SUCK MY D_ _ K’ in bold letters. Stan almost doubled over laughing. There were tears of mirth shining in his eyes. 

“S-sorry, just fuck, I didn't know a drug dealer could do something so _domestic_.” Stan wheezed out, finally able to stop laughing.

Rick glared at Lee, his cheeks tinged a slight pink before he straightened as much as he could, holding his head high as he shoved past the other. Lee who, much more solidly built, let him and watched as he made his way to the table in the living room. Said table was full of trash that he just haphazardly pushed off to set the tray down, everything clattering to the floor. 

“Fuck you, Lee. I c-can let you fucking starve, you know.” Rick grumbled, looking around the room until he found a folding chair covered in garbage and papers. He pulled it out from under the pile and unfolded it, setting it down on the opposite side of the other.

Stan chuckled a bit, getting the last of it out, before heading over to the table. “I'm sorry, don't let me starve. I'm hungry as a fucking horse.” 

Stan had a smile on his face as he sat down on the folding chair as Rick took his seat, shoving one plate of pancakes at him while taking the other. Rick grabbed the syrup and poured it over his stack, grabbing his fork and digging in, mumbling a ‘fuck you’ around his mouthful. 

The stocky one of the two grabbed the syrup once the other was done and drizzled some over his stack and dug in. God, his mouth was in heaven. He nearly moaned around his mouthful before digging in with fervor. He hadn't had food this good in he didn't know how fucking long. They ate in relative silence, the only sounds were of them eating and drinking their coffee, Rick had Irished up his own cup of Java. 

Stan let out a long, contented sigh as he sat back, the folding chair creaked as he did, patting his full stomach. He was full, caffeine up, and quite content. He watched Rick lean back and let out a burp, seems like this was going to be a constant thing, picking up a bottle next to the chair and pouring it into his mug before taking a swig straight from the bottle. He handed it to Stan and he added some to his half empty coffee before setting it on the table. 

“Those were the best fucking pancakes I've ever had.”

Rick grinned smugly and grabbed his mug, taking a drink and holding it in his hands as he looked at the other. “Of course they are. I made them.” 

Snorting, Stan rolled his eyes, taking a swig of his own drink. _This guy is such an arrogant asshole. But they were great fucking pancakes._ “Yeah, yeah. Now that we've eaten, wanna tell me the details of what we'll be doing now?” Stan figured now was the time to talk business.

“Ah, yeah. Lee, it's fucking perfect th-that we met now cuz I'm about to make it into the la-AAarruurp-larger sells. Not just selling to few people at-at concerts and gigs and shit anymore.” Rick took a drink before continuing. 

“Got me a buyer. W-word got back to him about my shit and he's interested. Which means more money and less f-fucking dealing with -uuurp- people.” Rick knew his shit was good but he was not the most personable guy to be making drug deals to already intoxicated or jonesing junkies. 

“I need t-to finish this ba-UUuUrrp-batch I'm making for ‘im and bring it to the meet up in a week. Gonna make a nice fuckton of muuuulllaaa! But since this is my first time doing a big deal, I figured a little muscle wouldn't hurt.”

“Smart idea. Never wanna go into a drug deal without some type of backup.” Stan paused a moment before he thought of something. “Where do you make it? Do you rent a place away or something?” 

Stan had looked around the small place, seeing nothing basic household appliances and furniture. And every flat surface covered in alcohol containers. _I thought I was bad but, fuck, Rick looks like he couldn't go a day without something with a proof percent about 20. Guy must have an iron liver._ Stan thought as he watched Rick refill his mug with more of a creamy, strong liquor that went well with coffee. But he knew there wasn't any coffee left in that mug.

“Ha! Like I'd waste money on getting an-another place. Plus, I like keeping my wor-uuurrr-k close to me. I-I’ll show you.” Rick got up, keeping his mug in hand. 

The slender man made his way to the kitchen, refilling his mug with a bit of coffee since most of the mug was liquor. He went over to the wall of the kitchen that had a few shelves that held spices, measuring cups and spoons, and a few cookbooks. He grabbed a large cookbook, ‘Happy Homemaker’s Favorite Meals’, and pulled it to tilt over before pushing it back up right. 

There was a moment where nothing happened. Then a hiss sounded before clicking metal gears moved together to open the rack wall, swinging inward to expose a narrow, dimly lit concrete stairway. 

Stan didn't follow Rick immediately. He knew the kitchen was small and couldn't hold what he assumed had to be a lot of science-y stuff to make drugs. He doubted that you could make them in your kitchen with a beat up oven and coffee pot. Then he heard the loud hiss and clicking gears. Stan stood and made his way to the kitchen only to gasp in surprise at seeing the wall swing open to a hidden stairwell. 

Rick looked over his shoulder at Lee, grinning wide when he heard him gasp. Ego petted, Rick made his way down the stairs, the width just enough to keep him from touching the walls if he was holding things in his arms. Lee would have to squeeze in a bit to make it down. At least it was a fairly short staircase.

Stan did have to squeeze. His shoulders brushing against the walls slightly. _A staircase made for noodle men._ Stan thought as he made his way down the narrow passage, reaching the secret room which was surprisingly bigger than the living room and bedroom combined.

It was a large, concrete room that was at least ten feet tall and had a partition separating a section of of the spacious room off. In front of Stan, in the corner, was a large tube like thing leading from the floor to out of the ceiling. There were slits all along the tube and from what he could see, horizontal laying fans, about four, spaced along the inside of it. Seems to be a vent of sorts. A few feet from the vent tube was a large, long table. A bunch of science-y stuff was set up on it. Beakers, tubes, bunsen burners, various flasks, and other tools. Looked like what he expected a mad scientist's lab setup to look like. Minus blinking lights and lightening. 

Along the same wall was a smaller table and a tall standing cabinet. Some ingredients were on the table while the he assumed more was in the cabinet. Last on that wall was a sink, a weird hose attached to the sink that ended in a shower head. He briefly got an image of his high school science room, seeing a similar shower hose there for if chemicals got in your eyes or face or whatever. At least there was some safety aspect here. 

Along the wall to his left, there were some drying racks and another table right next to the vent tube. There were some different items on it. Zip lock bags ranging from tiny ones to the size of a sandwich. And there were plastic wrapped bricks of shimmery, purplish powder. Little tablets the same color as the powdered filled a few of the zip locked bags. Those were obviously the drugs. 

Though, for the life of him, Stan couldn't think of any drug that looked remotely like the one on the table. The color was definitely weird. But Rick did say it was he made his own party favor. He just expected his own way of making a common drug not an entirely new drug. He was fairly impressed and a bit wary. He knew what to expect with other drugs, hell, he even did a stint for selling himself. He knew the dangers and the reactions to different drugs but if this was truly a new drug, he was in the dark.

Rick had made his way to the science equipment table, futzing with a few different flasks and beakers, each with something inside them. He poured different amounts into a large, bulbous flask that was over a bunsen burner. His movements like that when he was making the pancakes, deft and sure, graceful. It was quite hypnotic but Stan was pretty interested in looking around the room. He'd probably see Rick doing this again later.

So, Stan gave himself a tour of the room. Which, amazingly, was not littered with empty beer cans and liquor bottles. It was actually quite clean and organized. The floor was bare, just plain concrete. There was a chair nearby Rick, but that was really it. Though, on the same wall as the staircase, right across from the science equipment and rick, was a large chalkboard with equations and diagrams, nothing Stan understood besides a few symbols and a few of the elements. He supposed it was the drug, broken down into its simplest form. 

He crossed the room, reaching the partition that separated the two parts of the room, Stan was surprised. There were band posters on most of the free space of the walls, bands he never heard of. Most of them featured grungy looking men, messily scrawled band names on them, and rather angry or defiant looking. There was a ratty looking couch, stained and ripped, pressed against the wall. A coffee table with bottles and garbage on it and a few magazines. 

Against a wall was a rack that held a few electric guitars, two bass guitars, and even an acoustic guitar. It seemed like Rick was also a musician as well as a drug dealer and maker. And cook. And portal gun maker. A man of many talents.

On the wall above the guitars, was a picture pinned there of Rick on stage playing a guitar, a man dressed like a bird on vocals, and guy in a cat suit, Stan guessed, behind the drums. On the bass drum the words “The Flesh Curtains” were painted on in big, red letters. Rick looked arrogant, cocky, and oozed sex appeal. His outfit was nearly the same on stage as the one he was wearing in the bar. Even though there were two other members in the band, Rick commanded all the attention- no, _demanded_ all the attention of his audience. Even a still frame in time showed how big Rick’s stage presence was. 

Stan spent a few minutes looking at the picture. It wasn't the best quality but the more he looked, the more he picked out. He could see a thin sheen of sweat on Rick’s sun kissed skin, black eyeliner on his lower lids making his sky blue eyes even more striking, even see how his hair was swept back yet could still make out the parts in his hair of that made up his spikes. Like dark blue waves of the ocean at night.

He was pulled out of his daze when he heard Rick calling him. He didn't really know how long he stood examining the picture but felt like it was longer than he should have. Which made him feel a bit of uneasiness at but shook it off. He was just getting to know his business partner better is all. 

Lee had made it around the partition when Rick called was about to call his name again. The young genius had finished getting the next batch slowly cooking. The bright blue speckled liquid simmering over the bunsen burner, green smoke flitting through glass coils until it reached another flask, therein the smoke settled into the second stage of the drug. It was a slow process that took about two days to complete this portion of the drug before he could start on the next. It had to be monitored at regular involves to make sure the liquid didn't bubble. Simmer good, bubble explosion. The set up wasn't cheap, nor were the ingredients, so he didn't want to have to shell out more money to buy it all again 

It did give him time to practice and write songs but it did get boring after awhile. It would be good to have company that wouldn't snort all of the finished product and keep him entertained. Well, he did hope Lee would do that. It would blow if he couldn't. 

“S-so, I just got another batch going here, Lee. It's gonna take-take two days until I can move to the next step and shit needs to be watched. If it bubbles it explodes and we wasted time, money, and a-all that for nothing, Lee. W-we’ll be staying down here for the most part.” Rick grabbed his mug and frowned when he saw that he had already downed his booze with a coffee tinge to it. 

Stan looked at the liquid and smoke, not knowing anything beyond a few elements and that you shouldn't mix a lot of things with bleach, especially acids. He didn't know how the blue liquid could turn into green smoke or how they could eventually end up as that shimmery purplish powder. It was cool looking, though, he'd give him that. Then Stan realized what the last thing Rick said. 

“We're staying down here for two days? What about my car? It's still by the bar if it hasn't been towed yet!” Stan just remembered that he didn't drive here. He portaled here. It was a tough concept to grasp still. 

Rick grumbled and rolled his eyes. He took another look to the liquid simmering away, the smoke rising from it but no bubbles to be seen. It was stable for now. He made his way over to Lee, holding out his long, slender hand to him. Even curling his fingers a few times in the “gimme” motion. “Fiiiine, Lee. I'll go get y-your car. Gimme the keys.”

No one drove the Stanmobile but him. It was his baby. His slightly beat up metal baby. “It's my car, Rick. I'm the only one that can drive her! Just use your portal thing to get me back to the bar and I'll drive her here.” It seemed like a reasonable enough idea.

However, it didn't work for Rick. “Even - even if I do send you back to the bar, you don't even know how to get here. Th-this place is off road for a reason, Lee. I like my privacy. You'd get lost in the desert and die before you'd find my place. Tr-trust me, Lee. I'll just drive her right back through the portal. There and back in no-no time.”

Rick curled his fingers again, more impatient now from having to ask a second time. He didn't care about the car. At all. He had a freaking _portal_ gun. He could travel anywhere he wanted in a matter of seconds. It was an outdated mode of transportation as far as he was concerned. But the other man's whole life was in his car. However much, or little, that may be. So Rick was graciously willing to go get it for him. If he wasn't such a hedonistic asshole, he should have been nominated for saint-dom. 

Staring at the long fingers curling and uncurling to the slender waiting palm, Stan grumbled. He _really_ didn't want Rick to drive his car. Nor did he want the Stanmobile going through the portal. What if it didn't fit or something and Rick broke something or cut in half or-- Stan mentally shook his head from his paranoid thoughts. _I'll give him a little faith. And if he fucks up, I'll beat the tar outta him. And make him pay for the damages._

Fishing his keys out of his right front pocket he put it into Rick’s hand with a grunt of annoyance. “Be careful with the Stanmobile. Just a few seconds, right?”

Rick gripped the keys before tossing it into the air a few times as he walked towards the stairs. “A minute tops. Don't worry s-so much, Lee. Your ca-aaUUrgh-r will be fine. See ya in a bit and if it you see even the tiniest bubble forming turn the bunsen burner down or ka-kablooey! It explodes and destroys most of the basement and part of the house, okay, Lee? Thanks! Bye!” 

Before Stan had even a chance to respond, Rick’s long legs helping him bound up the narrow steps quickly. Stan closed his mouth shut with a snap and groaned, rubbing his face in exasperation. His eye hurt and he could feel the skin was hot and swollen against his fingertips. The shiner was already making it hard to see out of his eye, he supposed it didn't look particularly good either. Lovely. 

Well, it looked like he had nothing to do but wait until Rick got back with his car. Which shouldn't be long. Just a minute, literally. Stan could change into some new clothes and check on his baby when Rick brought her back. He eyed the liquid a bit, no bubbles at all, but it paid to be cautious. And the payment was drugs to sell and not being blown up. 

He plopped down in the chair near the set up and reclined back a bit. Watching this just make smoke wasn't hard and it shouldn't be hard for the next two days to go by quickly. He'd probably be bored stiff for most of it. Money was a good motivator, though. _Eyes on the prize, Pines. Eyes on the prize._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly had one idea for this chapter, well two, and I did it. Then it kept going. And going. I didn't know how to make it stop then it did. The next chapter is shaping up to have a mind of its own as well. 
> 
> Where is this going? I have so many ideas for this story. So many. And there's a song in the next chapter that I'm not sure of. I wish I had a talking buddy but no one knows of my sinful writings. Just that I write. 
> 
> Secret gay fanfiction writer, that's me.


	4. Ricktrospection of One Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swearing, like always. Some back story, I think. Mostly just what each other is thinking about the other.

It had been _hours_. Fucking _hours_ since the bastard left.

Stan only knew it had been well over six hours from glancing at the clock on the stove during his mad, desperate dash to the bathroom. He couldn't hold it in anymore and, after checking and double checking to make sure the shit didn't look like it was about to bubble over, he ran up the stairs as quick as he could. Took the fastest piss of his life, having already gotten his pants opened on the dash there, grabbed something to drink from the fridge and happened it see the time. Then made a hasty retreat back down to the secret basement. 

No bubbles. 

What he grabbed from the fridge, he should have figured, was alcoholic. A decent beer too, at that. He used the table on the other side of the partition to open the bottle, not trusting to use one with the cooking or dried drugs. Stan went back and sat on the swiveling chair near the slowly simmering shit, watching the smoke coil through the glass tube before looking away, taking a deep pull from the beer.

“‘A minute tops,’ my ass,” Stan grumbled under his breath. His fist clenching a bit harder around the bottle before relaxing.

He shouldn't have trusted him. He really shouldn't have. He didn't have much in the way of options but he should have made him just send him back and give him directions. Made him do something else than just giving him the keys to his wheels and the only worldly possessions he had in life. He wasn't even that trusting of a guy anyway, what the hell had he been thinking?

 _If he gets one scratch or ding in my car I'll make him pay for it; with money and blood._ Stan thought darkly, his glare turning on the simmering liquid like it was all its fault. Which, it kind of was. 

It could be a dud for all he knew. The drug from start to it's finished product wasn't anything he had seen or even heard of before. It was a mystery. Could be some fancy looking placebo. Well, it wouldn't be that bad if it was. Rich folk would pay big for it and think they're getting high off their posh asses because they didn't know better. Even if it was a dud, they could still make a decent profit. Probably get run out of another state- or worse, the country- if they sold a placebo to the wrong person.

Rick was so confident in his drug's ability to get the user fucked up that it would a bit odd if all the bolstering was just over placebo. Plus, he made a fucking device that let's you cross any distance with a few steps. Making mind altering drugs didn't seem like that much of stretch for this guy. 

Yeah, this guy. What was with this guy? He was something else. He just kept getting more and more… what? Mind-boggling? Strange? Interesting? Well, all those worked but none of them felt quite right. Stan could think of a word that would properly fit. Rick had many facets to himself that Stan kept getting sideswiped with each new one. Rick just didn't _fit_ the stereotype of all the things he obviously was.

His first impression was that he was a punk loser just wanting to get drunk. Which, he was. He is a punk and did want to get drunk. Rick seemed to need a consistent flow of alcohol in his system. Stan has been associating punks with being dumb and angry at their parents or “the man.” Generally just not worth his time or effort. Rick was definitely not dumb and he was worth his time, if the deal went well. Stan hasn't seen him angry. Irritated, yes, but not angry. Though, he probably would see it if he stuck around for awhile. Guy looks like he be bit of a hot head.

The next impression he got was from the whole drug making/dealing thing. He would have never thought that skinny loud mouth could do either. Definitely do drugs, Stan could seriously see that happening. Well, maybe selling drugs at punk concerts, seedy college bars and clubs. But making them? No. Especially a setup like this, all by himself. With a drug that seemed it was his own creation. Which brought him to his next realization about the other.

He was a freaking genius. He knew what genius was because of his genius twin. It was something people said about others that had a smart idea occasionally. But Stan knew what real genius looked like and Rick definitely was one. He didn't have the Poindexter appearance, that was for sure, but he showed his genius in what he created. The portal gun being the hard evidence of this claim. The scientific mumbo jumbo and equations that covered boards and papers, the bits of tech that littered free space that wasn't taken by alcoholic containers, the fucking chemistry set that made the drugs. All of alluded to genius. Yet, Rick didn't give off the air of profound intellect. He was a cocky, arrogant bastard that _knew_ he was smarter than those around him but he didn't walk on airs about it. He puffed up when his ego was stroked but it wasn't oppressive when he did act condescending. It was more like he was just an asshole that liked getting praise and wouldn't hesitate to put people in their place. 

Stan also wasn't expecting the other to be able to cook. He looked like the kind of guy that could maybe cook a scrambled egg but it'd be either burnt or have pieces of shells in it or both. The breakfast Stan ate earlier clearly made his assumption of the other null and void. He could cook and, boy, could he cook well. Even if it was something simple like pancakes but he had made it taste so good that Stan knew he could cook other dishes just as good if not better. It also probably helped with the fact that Stan hasn't had a home cooked meal in years. Not that Ma was the best cook or anything but it still counted as home cooked meals. 

During his pondering and letting his mind wander about the other man, Stan had finished his beer. He had been slowly going in circles as he sat in the swivel chair, the tops of his shoes dragging across the concrete ground. He was wondering if he wanted to risk throwing away his empty bottle and getting a new one or just chucking this own to the- what he dubbed- “music side” of the room where there were plenty of bottles and cans to make his addition to the mess unnoticeable. Before he got to a decision, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. 

Stan had left the way open to the basement. Rick hadn't closed it when he left and Stan wasn't sure how to do it himself. The most logical person coming down the stairs was Rick. Living on the road, dealing with shady and dangerous people, and having gotten into a few situations left Stan a cautious man. He moved to the wall next to the opening of the stairs, gripping the neck of the bottle in one hand, down at his side. 

“Heeey Lee, I'm ba-huugh-back-- whoa!” Rick had just reached the basement floor when he saw Stan standing there, an imposing mass of intimidation. 

“It's J-just me! Man, Lee, warn a, warn a guy that you're just standing th-there,” Rick said, his heart beating a bit faster than he would have liked. 

Stan relaxed as he saw it was Rick, his shoulders and posture slumping a bit, though he kept his glare trained to the other.

“Where the fuck have you been, Sanchez? It's been hours! You said it'd be a minute, tops!” 

Rick regarded him for a moment before shrugging, turning away from the other and heading to chemistry setup was. “It took a bit longer than expected. Fo-found your car and it's here, safe and sound. D-don't get your panties in a knot, Lee. I just had to do, to do a few things before c-uurp-coming back,” He said as he fiddled with the burner before looking at where the smoke was settling. 

“I've been stuck down here since you left, y’know! Not wanting to blow up if I took my eyes off of yer weird ass drug.” Stan huffed. This guy coming back all nonchalant was pissing him off.

Rick rolled his eyes, though Stan couldn't see it, and took out a notebook and pen from a drawer under the table. He jotted something down before sticking it back in. 

“W-well, Leeee, I figured y-y-you were a big boy that could handle a few hours alone. Didn't need to babysit you the, the whole time. Plus, with someone watching -urrrp- watching this, I could shop real quick and shit,” He finally turned to face the other, his own look haughty and annoyed. “If you think you can handle it, Lee, I'll make us some fu-fucking lunch. Then you can see your, your precious fucking car.”

This was the attitude that was going to make him punch the other, eventually. However, Stan’s stomach growled at the mention of food and he sighed, letting the glare slip- slightly- off his face. Food now, car next. “Fine, whatever,” He gave in. 

Rick grinned, happy that the other's cave even if it was only for food. He made his way back up the stairs, leaving Stan alone in the basement once again. 

Stan had finally decided to chuck the empty bottle on the music side. He was looking at some of the ingredients that were on the table nearby, a good amount he recognized as common for a few drugs, but there were a few things he had no idea what they were. There was this weird, glow-pulsing crystal in a jar. It reminded him of the the liquid simmering away- which he glanced at to make sure it wasn't bubbling- because of the color. There was another jar with this blackish mush that looked like a weird cross between moss and black mold. A bunch of dried leaves were tied together but instead of normal color, they were this bright pink with swirls of orange on them. It was weird.

It didn't take too long for Rick to come back down again. Rick had the tray/platter he used to carry the pancakes to the table this morning in his hands. There were two plates, this time with two baked potatoes loaded with toppings on each, and- was that meatloaf? There was also a chilled sixpack in the crook of his arm. 

Stan had turned to the stairs when heard the other's decent, coming over to grab the tray to help. Rick made a noise of thanks, which he'd never verbalize no matter how great the help was. He took the sixpack and tore off one, cracking it open, and taking a long swig. He walked over to the music side, pulling a lever Stan didn't notice before, to move the partition away so they can see the other part of the room clearly. He sat with a grunt on the couch and took another swig, setting the other five beers on the covered table. 

Making his way over, he set the tray on top of the table, having muscled some of the magazines and things over a bit, before sitting on the couch as well, a few hands away from Rick. He felt saliva pool in his mouth as he looked at and smelled the food. God, did it make his mouth water. Stan handed one plate to Rick, which he balanced on a knee, a fork in one hand and his beer in the other. He took the other and started to chow down. 

He almost moaned, it was that good. And it _was_ meatloaf. It was thick, juicy, and had flavor. The last time he had meatloaf, well, Ma was distracted with a customer and ended up burnt and bland. Even the potatoes were amazing. Just loaded up with toppings, a good heaping of butter, and a crisp skin with a soft inside. It was definitely something he'd put up with the other's bad personality for. 

By the time Stan had wolfed down his plate of food, Rick was halfway through his and on his second beer. Stan grabbed a beer for himself, reclining back against the ratty couch with a content sigh, taking a few gulps as he relaxed. He glanced across the room - no bubbles. He'd finish his beer then go check on his baby. Maybe grab a shower too, it's been a few days and he was feeling ripe. 

He gave a sidelong glance at Rick, seeing him trying to take a drink while holding a fork full of food close to his mouth while his plate teetered precariously back and forth over his bony knee. It was a bit comical and Stan held back a snort of laughter. The guy was weird, an asshole, an alcoholic, and had loose morals. He wasn't half bad. Out of everyone Stan had met in his life, this guy was by far the most interesting. And perplexing. 

Rick noticed he was being stared at, the feeling of eyes on him made him look over at the other. He mumbled out a “what?” around his fork, his brow raised in question. 

Stan shrugged, having been caught staring no matter how discreet he made it, trying to let it blow over casually. He let his eyes shift to the instruments then up to the picture of Rick and his band before down to the table again. He finished off his beer and stood, groaning as he cracked his back, letting the bottle fall to the floor with the rest. 

“Gonna check out my car then take a shower, okay? If it's damaged, yer paying for it.” Stan tossed back over his shoulder as he made his way to the staircase. There was only a muffled grunt of acknowledgement before he went upstairs.

The Stanmobile was fine. The only thing out of place was a few beer bottles on the passenger's side floor. Which he promptly tossed out. He was used to it having some trash but he always cleaned it out. Eventually. It was his home, of sorts. Stan grabbed a change of clothes; just a pair of jeans, a shirt, clean socks and underwear. He'd have to do laundry again at some point. 

Back inside, straight to the bathroom, he stripped and took a shower. It felt amazing. Getting clean, in a shower, _with_ shampoo and body wash. It was heaven. Done, dried, and dressed, he looked in the mirror. His eye was blackened but the swelling that had come already was going down, leaving him at least able to see more out of it than expected. The other fighter was cheap but not that strong. His knuckles were still scraped up and bruised a bit but fine. He flexed his fingers. A slight sting but that was it. How he had lost was beyond him. Probably that blow to his gut followed by the hook to the side of his head is what really screwed him over. He'd just have to do better, next time. 

Stan made his way back downstairs, having grabbed another sixpack from the newly stocked fridge. There was food but mostly booze. Rick was on more of liquid liquor diet, apparently. Stan mildly wondered how the string bean could put so much away as he walked back down, hearing the sound of chords being strummed. It was slow, almost somber melody that made Stan stay in place to listen. The melody picked up a bit in tempo but still remained in that weird somber tone.

_**  
”Sitting up in your room late at night  
Listening to music to drown out the fight  
Looking out your window imagining a different place,  
A different face  
Are you happy?” ** _

Rick’s voice had accompanied the music, giving life to the song with the lyrics. His voice was gruff, not an easy flow with the melody or lyrics. He was also a bit off-key but it didn't matter to Stan. He was watching him now, hunched over the only acoustic guitar, watching his fingers then to a notebook laid open on the table. He had a pen behind one ear, seemed he was working on it still. Rick was in a world of his own, again. When he was focused on something, everything else melted away and the only thing left was him and whatever had his attention. This time, it was his guitar and his song. He began the chorus and the rest of the song.

_**  
“On a scale from one to zero,  
Are you happy?  
You're on your own from here, so  
Are you happy?** _

_**In my car laying under the stars  
Miles away from those problem of ours  
Staring into outer space as we plan our escape  
We'll rewrite our fate  
Are we happy?** _

_**On a scale from one to zero,  
Are we happy?  
We're on our own from here, so  
Are we happy?** _

_**Can't drown out the yelling now that it's us  
Arguing and screaming with no real purpose  
Tried to get out of the vicious cycle of fighting  
But here we are and now i’m gone, leaving you crying  
We're not happy.** _

_**On a scale from one to zero,  
Are we not happy?  
We're going our separate ways, so  
Are we not happy?** _

_**It's been awhile since I've seen you, do you think of me?  
Or am I some faded, forgotten, hated memory?  
I'm sorry for what I did, what I became  
I'm the one to blame  
Am I happy?** _

_**On a scale from one to zero,  
Am I happy?  
I'm on my own from here, so  
Am I happy? ** _

_**I'm not happy  
No, I'm not happy  
I hope you're happy  
Are you happy?   
Are you… happy?” ** _

The song faded out, the last cord hanging in the air like it was waiting, waiting for an answer that would never come. Rick just stayed where he was, hunched over the guitar, one leg propped up keeping the neck angled up, for what felt like ages, long after the last note rang out. It was a painful sounding song; hopeful for a brief moment before descending back into sorrow. It was doleful but had a slight upbeat way of keeping the verses going, almost as if trying to keep the solemn tone of the song away but unable to. A slightly brighter outside to hide the darkness of it lying just beneath the surface.

It held weight, a weight that settled on Stan’s heart, even made it ache for the man. It made him think of his family, his brother, his _twin_ and how he was doing. If he was happy. He didn't want to think about that, about him. He made a slight shift, his shoe scuffing the ground, making Rick’s head snap up instantly. 

“H-how long have you, have you been standing there, Lee?” Rick grumbled, his voice was a bit rougher than normal.

“Not that long,” Stan shrugged, not wanting to let the other know he's been there the whole time. The song seemed sort of… intimate. 

Rick narrowed his eyes at the other before looking away, getting up to replace the guitar on the rack. Stan came over and handed Rick a beer, grabbing one himself, and setting the rest on the table before sitting down.

Rick took the beer gratefully, cracking it open and drinking heavily from it before plopping himself down on the couch as well, kicking his notebook closed.

“So… yer in a band, huh?” Stan ventured lamely, trying to get past the awkward atmosphere that had settled.

To his relief, Rick picked up the subject with interest, the mood shifting to a much lighter note. “O-oh yeah, Lee, I formed a band with some of my friends. We're The motherfucking Flesh Curtains! I'm on lead guitar, rockin’ that sh-shit.”

“We've done a few gigs, with Bird Person is our singer, really rocks it and Squanchy on drums, squanching it up! Haha,” He chuckled, finishing off his beer and grabbing another, a small smile on his lips. 

“We've done a-a couple on Earth but, heh, after our first gig here, I'm on lead vocals with him doing backup. Hu-humans don't really appreciate Bird language much,” He chuckled again, remembering the first Earth gig they did. They were booed off the stage before the first song ended, trash and drinks being thrown at them. It was a rough but fond memory. There was fighting and drinking.

“His name is Bird Person? Seriously?” Stan raised an eyebrow, incredulous. 

“Yeah! I had th-the same reaction at first, too, Lee. But he's cool. May-maybe a bit serious but cool. And Squanchy is fuckin’ i-insane! If you come to a concert so-oouurrg-sometime, I'll introduce you,” Rick waggled his brow as he looked at the other, a playful gleam in his eyes. “You can be our, be our groupie, Lee!”

Stan rolled his eyes and snorted, “I'd rather be sober for life before I become _your_ groupie.” Stan paused a moment, taking a drink, before shrugging, “Maybe I'll come check ya out sometime.”

Rick held back a highly inappropriate comment based on the larger man's choice of words. They had just gotten past this mornings weird beginnings and didn't feel like ruining the good vibe with unnecessary homophobia. It was hard not to make some comment, it really was. Saint Rick, that's him. The patron saint of the fucked up and the damned. It wasn't bad sounding, maybe it could be in a song. Rick gave a mental shrug.

They continued talking about The Flesh Curtains, Rick trying to explain that the other band members _weren't_ wearing costumes. Rick’s first time off-world had been a few years ago, which seemed like a lifetime ago now, and had to get accustomed to all the aliens and weird shit he's seen and done. It didn't take too long for him but he was a fairly open-minded person that just didn't give a fuck one way or the other about most shit. Most humans were pretty stuck in their own heads about things, especially other lifeforms and different ways of living. There was huge issues about other _human_ races just being allowed to live like others, for fuck’s sake. Yes, off-world life was a bit out of their range still to grasp and deal with. One day. Maybe.

Lee seemed worldly, at least well traveled, and experienced in the more dark recesses of humanity than the general populous. It was the look in his eyes, the way he held himself, even the way he walked. Body language spoke volumes that words could never reach. He was guarded because of experience, of life lessons hard learned, of hurt that was nigh unbearable. Rick knew he'd probably had the same look in his own eyes. Maybe that was why he took a liking to him so quickly. Yes, he started talking to him because he looked like his twin but if he _was_ like his twin, their conversation would've ended quickly without anything more between them. 

Lee wasn't like Ford, at all, and Rick was glad about that. He was fun and funny, he had Rick snorting and busting out from laughter a few times. He was also smart in a way that Rick could appreciate, not intelligence but wisdom. He was that mix of street smart, savvy, and experience that even the people with the highest IQ’s could never attain from studying. It was hard won with physical effort that you couldn't gain from books or classes. Rick felt he had his fair share of street smarts but, if he could only admit it go himself, Lee had him outmatched in it. 

Yet the other didn't seem to feel it counted as intelligence. There were subtle instances where he could see that Stan got more guarded when Rick was showing him something that went over his head. Like he was expecting something bad to happen from it. Almost like a dog that had been kicked one too many times for doing the same thing. It probably had to be an after effect from having a genius twin. Stanford definitely flaunted his intelligence, despite being a socially awkward nerd lord, so he felt confident in his assumption that he probably was held over Lee quite often. 

Honestly, he thought Lee was a million times better than Ford, hands down. Besides just being funny and fun and savvy, he had other great things about him. _Like dat ass~_ Rick thought with a cheeky smile. Which Lee noticed and Rick waved it off, bringing Lee to talk about something or other while Rick pondered about him. 

He was good looking, no doubt, Lee got Rick hot and bothered. But he wasn't about to force himself on the guy. Please, he was Rick fucking Sanchez! He could get tail without even trying. He'd probably get this guy in bed with him, eventually. But besides the looks, he liked how Lee held himself. Confidence was sexy. He was down on his luck but he didn't act like he was a beggar or looking for a handout. He'd earn his way with hard work, the ethics and morals of how he earned it didn’t matter. He could appreciate that in a person.

The conversation lulled to a comfortable silence, Stan taking a pack of cards from his pocket to play by himself while Rick grabbed his electric guitar. He hooked it up to the amp nearby and turned it on low, just practicing the songs for their next gig without lyrics. Just playing more quick paced, punk music than the slow, melancholy melody from before. It was honestly nice just having company around and being comfortable while doing their own thing while the drug simmered away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much going on in this chapter, I'm sorry. I still liked it. I love Rick cooking. It's literally edible science. I know he can cook, I know it.
> 
> Oh crap, I almost posted this before remembering I put a song in it! Yeesh, I'm dropping the ball. 
> 
> The song is set to the melody of Bo Burnham's Are you happy? The chorus is taken from his song and inspired the one I wrote.
> 
> Literally, was not expecting this to be the first song I post in this story. I had to rewrite it a few times and I'm not 100% happy with it. But I feel like it's still good. 
> 
> Tell me what you think? 
> 
> Also, thank you stanchez trash for commenting! Hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> I also write this on my phone. With a learning to toddle little one. Who likes to take my phone. This has been a labor of love and struggle and choosing to stay up until after 2am to write when I'm awoken at 6am.
> 
> I've also written two half completed stanchez smut stories and two full, one half, and a third songs for Rick. 
> 
> My little one is over being sick and I am nearly 100% as well.


End file.
